This Often Silent Place
by E.Stevens
Summary: [Work In Progress] Booth, Brennan and the art of disappearing.
1. Prologue

**THIS OFTEN SILENT PLACE**

**E. Stevens**

**-x-x-x- **

**Rating:** T. (Though it's probably going to be milder). 

**Disclaimer: **Bones and all related characters are, sadly, not mine.

** Spoilers:** All episodes aired.

**Note:** I'd like to say a huge thank you for all the encouraging reviews that I received for my first story, I was really astounded that you all took the time to read and give me such nice feedback. This is a work in progress, and as a warning - updates will be slow in coming. (Life is very hectic at the moment!) Criticism is always valued and much appreciated.

* * *

PROLOGUE

-x-

_This was home, this often silent place, with her paintings on the wall and her books in the shelves, the well-worn coffee machine and the space in the living area where a television once stood._

-x-

Her apartment lay shrouded in darkness, the feeble haze of the city teasing the shadows but never quite filtering through the gaps in the curtains.

She awoke with a vague sense of uneasiness, a crackle, a spark in the air telling her that something was drastically wrong. Instinctively she knew not to move and froze, stilling her breathing until the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room and the ghostly hiss of the blood rushing in her ears.

There was a pause, stagnant and chilling, before her mind became aware that the red laser beam, staining her bedroom wall had disappeared and her heart began to race.

She moved to pull back the covers when a hand pressed her mouth closed and a weight pushed her into her mattress. Struggling, she tried to roll over, but with her arms pinned all movement was minimal and exhausting. Momentarily freeing a limb she managed a sharp elbow to the ribs, but was quickly subdued.

He grunted and a sharp whisper pierced the room: "Bones.."

As his words penetrated the haze of fright and flight surrounding her mind, he felt her body sag with relief. Anticipating her anger he kept his chest firmly against her small form and tightened his hand around her mouth.

She felt his lips brush the flesh of her ear, his breath hot on cheeks, as he hissed:

"Roll off the bed and stay low. Get your shoes and bag. No talking, no light switches, got it?"

She nodded, confused, but the urgency in his voice was eerie and unsettling. Creeping along the floor she grabbed her shoes and her bag from where she'd tossed them only hours before. His hand found hers, and he tugged her towards the door, shutting it gently behind them.

The hallway was unlit, and a numb feeling prickled in the pit of her stomach as she caught Booth's eye settling on the broken light bulb. A grim smile tugged at his lips and instantly she knew that he was responsible. Her skin began to crawl. Question after question flitted through her mind, but she could only push them aside and follow blindly as she was pulled away from the stairwell, towards the fire escape at the other end of the passage.

"Booth - "

The word hung in the air like a desperate sigh, and she cursed herself for feeling weak and afraid. He gestured at her to be quiet, as he grappled with the door, eventually flinging it open. A gust of freezing wind rattled through the building and she shook in her flimsy string top and light pyjama bottoms. She moved deftly out onto the metal grill, wrapping her arms around herself and willing her hair to stay tied up in its loosely fixed ponytail. He stood behind her, shut the door carefully and together they descended the stairs that hung precariously from the side of the building.

The yard was deserted. Leaves and tin cans bounced off gutter and gravel as they wound around the perimeter to a hole in the back fence. She didn't dare look behind her as the noise of the traffic nearby began an imaginary crescendo.

Hastily he made his way to a battered white van, parked at the end of the side street. She followed, clumsily sloshing through the puddles and bits of debris that littered the darkened alley. They slid, gasping, into the front seats. Her hands trembled as she fastened her seat belt, the white droplets of her breath collapsing back against her face.

When she had finally calmed, she looked up to find his gaze resting upon her face, silently checking up on her. She swallowed and catching his eye, nodded.

He put the car in gear and sped out towards the highway. As she stared at the building in the rear view mirror, the light in her apartment flicked on.


	2. Looking Forward

**Author's note #1:**

I was absolutely overwhelmed by the number of you who left feedback for the prologue. A huge thank you to you all. Although I guess the pressure is now on, and I hope that this isn't disappointing. Please let me know what you think. I didn't lie when I said I'd be a while updating, and that still applies. (Although this _is_ longer than 800 words, which is a record for me!)

* * *

CHAPTER ONE  
Looking Forward

**-****x-**

_But I'm not a miracle  
And you're not a saint  
Just another soldier  
On the road to nowhere_

**-x-**

Booth lit a candle in a church in Kosovo. Winter in a village, where electricity was _(and wasn't),_ the congregation a sea of ghosts and, lost in midnight corners, a choir of faint shouts and gunshots. Even now, years later, he sometimes caught himself gazing helplessly at his hands, expecting blood but seeing only man.

He was death, once. He watched ordinary people, acting out their lives, and with razor-sharp aim cut their strings so that they fell - one, by one, by one.

The traffic sped by without a backward glance and Brennan treated him to a stale silence.

He recognized her frozen, haunted expression. He had seen it before and shot it between the eyes.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

She was unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Long after the city had been swallowed by distance, Brennan found her reflection in the passenger window seeping to black with the darkness outside. The engine was ticking over and once again she was leaving everything behind.

Then, she had bags for her belongings and social workers checking on occasion. Now, all that time had done was increase the clutter in her head and cheapen her fifteen-year-old treasures. Her hands held nothing from her last destination, and those protective gazes had hardened into silent menace.

"That was close." His heart was still beating too fast, his muscles still twitching as he tried to relax.

She murmured distractedly. Her fingers were clasped in her lap, Booth's clasped around the steering wheel and she tossed the urge to touch him aside. Instead she flicked the heat up a few degrees.

"Cold?"

"Not outwardly," she replied, "It's a natural response to -" She lifted her head and he felt her bristle slightly. "What just happened, Booth?"

His jaw dimpled as he clenched his teeth. This was one question he'd been waiting for, but could barely find words to answer.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She gave him a questioning look. "But - I'm alive because of you. I - I.. thank you." She swallowed, tugging her lip between her teeth.

It was a subtle slip of expression, but she noticed it immediately and silently condemned herself for getting it wrong again. Her voice was low when understanding came in the seconds that followed. "You apologized because you think the reason that I'm in danger is you."

He nodded brokenly. She looked away.

"I got a phone call," he said at last. "Twenty minutes before. They probably wanted me on time or just a moment too late." His tone was tinged with bitterness.

"You can't assume that. Surely you don't believe that you can construct any sort of motive from a single, probably seconds-long conversation. It's not sensible, Booth."

Her words echoed in the space between them. He was avoiding her.

-**x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

When she awoke a web of cloud had billowed across the sky, shielding the ground from the starlight and casting a shapeless shadow across the dashboard. Her face was sandwiched against the side window and her skin prickled as the temperature plummeted.

She sat upright, unfolding her legs and rubbing her feet to dull the throb of subsiding numbness. The little clock beside the radio read 3 a.m, but her body told her that it was much later in the morning. She was less than refreshed.

"Who were they, the callers?" There was a hint of desperation in her voice, Booth thought, though she hid it well.

He hesitated. "I'd go with male, but they used a voice changer and, well, I know your views on gut-speak, so-"

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"Look, Bones. We're going to get whoever did this._ I'm_ going to get whoever did this. They won't get away with it. I promise." He reached across and rubbed her hand.

"I hate feeling helpless," she said, mostly to herself.

"That's because you aren't. Usually. I mean - I don't think that even you could try and rationalize this." He gestured idly into the air.

She tugged gently on his hand, so that he looked over and caught her eye. "We're partners, aren't we? We can tell each other things?"

"Sure we can," he agreed. "Care to share with the class?"

She gave him a blank stare, before continuing "That explanation was pretty thin for someone who seems convinced of his own guilt. I know that Cullen has me labelled your responsibility, but I distinctly feel that you may be withholding information from me."

His mouth felt desert dry and he closed his eyes, a brief attempt to collect his thoughts. "I don't know if it has any relevance, or if it's coincidence, but I know his M.O. I've seen it used. I've used it..."

She let the pause settle without interruption.

"The caller used a code. One that only myself and a few others know."

"What was it?"

"He called it a two-hit hypothesis."

She frowned. "That's basic cancer biology, Booth. A cell withstands damage to one copy of a gene, if the second gene is also damaged, malignant transformation results."

"Trust me, Bones. That's one piece of squinty mumbo-jumbo I'm a little too familiar with."

"I do."

"What?"

"I do trust you."

"Ok-ay." He released a trapped breath. "Look, it..it was a while back. There was this man. He was brutal, cold - killed without flinching, wiped out entire families because he could. You know? A person worth being afraid of because he gave no chances. We knew of him, but they kept him well hidden. It was winter, and we had just arrived in a tiny village in the south of Kosovo when we came across him."

"You shot him?"

"Not immediately, no." Booth narrowed his eyes, as Brennan shifted in her seat.

"This was the first chance we'd ever had of getting the guy. We were undercover, outnumbered and we couldn't afford to draw attention to ourselves. We waited until night, until he was asleep. The plan was simple, but effective. The buildings were too low to get a good shot at him lying down, so one of us knocked on the door. He stood up to answer and -"

"I see," she said quietly. "Two people needed, so two hits."

"One for the door, one for the shot."

She shivered. "There was a beam hitting my wall. If I'd stood up.."

"Yeah." Booth didn't look at her.

"And the one supposed to knock?"

"I cut him off, knocked him out. Handcuffed him to the railings. He never got to your door. I knew the shooter would only wait so long before he'd realise that something was wrong."

Her eyes widened.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

They shuddered along the back roads at speed, Brennan clenching her teeth as the wheels hit potholes and she felt her body being jarred and thrown from side to side.

"What happened to your SUV?" she questioned, after another near-miss between her head and the roof.

Booth didn't miss a beat. "Oh, the nice, black, shiny FBI-funded, please-shoot-me, moving-target?"

Brennan's face fell. "You didn't want to draw attention to us."

"Actually," he replied, "It's in the shop."

She glared at him. "So you brought, this.. eh, this.. _death-mobile _instead."

Booth looked at her in mock confusion. "I don't know what that means."

She sighed, frustrated. "I was merely trying to express my doubts over the capacity of this vehicle to navigate these roads."

Booth decided to let it go, '_be the bigger man'_ as Angela would have put it. Except that Brennan really wasn't a guy; and to all intents and purposes they were running away together.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and the conversation lapsed momentarily.

"We're gonna need to stop for gas," he said finally.

Brennan seemed to consider this, before shrugging. "Frankly, I'm surprised we lasted this long. You certainly don't chose your vehicles based on energy efficiency."

"No," Booth said dryly as his clunky white van spat a layer of soot out onto the road. "Clearly, I'm all about style and panache."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think we should have taken my car."

Booth caught the tail end of the smirk that played on her lips. "Maybe next time," he murmured, shaking his head.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

There was faint comfort in the way the throbbing lights of the gas station set her face aglow. Some things didn't change, even when placed among dirt and grease and cans of WD40, not least her poise and composure.

Brennan didn't really do spontaneity. Or at least, when she did, it was with much persuasion and a thorough appraisal of the situation before her. So whereas he was pulling over to refuel in some filling station in nowhere, Virginia, she was still back in her apartment arguing the logistics of going on a road trip dressed in her pyjamas.

He had already surmised that she wasn't asleep. Her forehead was too creased and her lips almost whispered, the way they sometimes did when she blotted out the world and immersed herself in cracks and scrape marks. Here was a woman whose entire career depended on her seeing what was right in front of her, and yet, to the world in general she remained oblivious.

Pulling the door handle, he moved to get out. There was a moment when he wondered about telling her that he was only filling the tank, that he would be back, but the thought of disturbing her proved too much for him. This was her way of dealing. She needed space, she needed time to over-analyse. It was what she did and had done, the difference being that now he would challenge any conclusions that she reached before she flattened her feelings and sugarcoated everything with science.

The shock of the door closing jolted her back to reality. She heard him scrabbling to twist the cap off the tank and his shadow stretched along the window as he stood near the pump. Soon silence fell, and his feet shuffled over to pay for the gas. She shuddered slightly; with the engine shut off the heat had quickly seeped through the floor. Her heart quickened.

Leaning over, with her nose pressed against the window, she could just about make out his shape, stomping his feet in the line, hands in pockets. Taking no chances she deftly reached over and pressed the lock down on both doors.

Now, at last, she could breathe easier. Her fingers were rubbing the smooth upholstery of the seat, back and forward until the absurdness of new leather in such an old car struck her as peculiar. The sound system seemed modern too, as did the finish on the inside of the door.

A loud thud sounded from outside, as though someone had walked over a grate. She snapped to attention immediately and began frantically looking from window, to mirror for reassurance. There was nobody there. Booth was deep in conversation with the lady in front of him. _Hurry up_, she willed him silently.

Her chest had started to burn and the pulse in her neck was hammering. There was another bang, as though the side of the van had been hit, and the sound echoed, a curious knell though the hollowed out rear. Her hands clasped the sides of the seat and she tried to curl up, unable to move, unable to look.

"Hey, lady!" There was a sharp knock on the window.

She swallowed a small cry. A boy, no more than a teenager, with a pile of leaflets stood inches from her face.

"Support the cause," he cried as he smacked an advertisement against the glass, gesturing for her to take it.

Brennan didn't trust herself to speak, but with trembling hands, lowered the window a crack - just enough for him to fold the page in two and slip it onto her lap. She quickly disposed of it in the hollow beside the radio and the messenger made his way onto the next car.

She clung to the window again and, as though sensing her unease, Booth glanced behind him and gave her a wave. She didn't have time to respond as he turned to pay, but she felt much calmer in the knowledge that they'd be leaving soon. She couldn't shake this alien feeling of absolute fear. And then there was Booth, who seemed to be looking out for her more often now - she should be nicer to him.

He opened the door and flopped down on the seat, blowing on his hands. "Bit cold out there. Nice that you got to stay in the car." He flashed a grin at her, but Brennan was staring distantly out the window as though she hadn't registered his return at all.

"Bones?" He reached out and gently shook her shoulder. "I'm losing you here. You okay?"

She turned around in her seat, gazing downwards. His thumb trailed along her clavicle for a second longer, before he pulled away and started up the engine.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"This is a good van."

Booth froze, thoroughly confused. "It," he cleared his throat, "It does its job," he agreed tentatively.

"No - earlier, what I said - I know I can be blunt sometimes and I wasn't trying to be.. mean."

"You're referring to the opinion that I'm driving you around in a 'tetanus shot waiting to happen'?" She nodded. Booth patted the dashboard. "I'm sure there are no hard feelings."

"I'm serious, Booth. I see that you've put a lot of work into the interior and I think that it's nice."

He tossed her a grin. "This isn't a veiled attempt to make me let you drive, is it? Because if it is I've got to warn you that you don't stand a chance in those clothes."

There was a flicker of a smile as she shook her head.

A few weeks ago, maybe; or months ago - back during the hazy beginnings of partnership when Booth was as much of a mystery to her as the lonesome person whose bones were placed upon her table, she'd envied his ability to deal with the darkest that society had to offer and still be able to live as though those terrible things didn't happen. She knew better now.

It was in his eyes as he watched her, protected her. It was in his body as they left a crime scene far behind. The world was full of bad guys that Seeley Booth could not control; instead he made his peace by keeping her alive, and if it meant that he needed to bring her home safely, she would let him drive.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

"I'm afraid there'll be no breakfast on the terrace tomorrow morning, but if you're lucky we may get a room with a window," Booth commented as they pulled into the "Sleep-lite" motel.

He stopped the car and reached behind the seat, pulling out his jacket and tossing it onto her knees.

"Thanks." She slipped it over her bare shoulders.

Light from the gaudy sign at the entrance burst through the puddles like wildfire, settling in the worry that was etched on his face. Brennan inched closer to him as she followed him inside.

The girl behind the counter finished her phone call and waited, cracking her bubblegum expectantly.

Booth took the lead. "We're looking for a double room."

"What? No." He felt himself being elbowed aside. "Excuse me," Brennan rapped her fingers on the desk. The girl looked up from her computer screen, wearing a scowl that went completely unnoticed.

"We'll have two single rooms, please."

Booth muttered under his breath and held up his hand, stalling the clerk while he deftly tugged Brennan aside.

"Did you get an accountant like we discussed?" he asked.

"What?" she exclaimed, "You_ know_ that I did." She shook her arm out of his grasp.

"Well, then I'll do the math for both of us. We used the last of my cash on the gas, which means that we are left with whatever you have in that little bag of yours, which is -"

She flipped the catch and took a quick inventory, then sighed. "Not much."

He nodded knowingly. "See, Bones, it's all about conservation." He turned back to the reception desk and the girl who was, by now, more than slightly amused. "We'll take one room," he said pointedly.

Brennan followed behind. "Our survival, Booth, depends on something more visceral. We must be the strongest, the cleverest the fittest. We must concentrate on preserving ourselves, whatever the cost." She paused. "Make it a twin room."

"With a window," Booth added hastily, refusing to meet her eyes.

Conservation and self-preservation, he thought. Now there was a compromise.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

The room did not have a window.

It did however, have two beds.

If it weren't for the fact that Brennan was his travel companion, Booth would have been entirely suspicious of having missed a wealth of subtext between the women in the reception area. As it was he was poured into a cot that was at least a foot short of his specifications, and the rumbling of the heater as it coughed lukewarm air into the room was keeping him awake.

"I should really tell Angela." Brennan said suddenly, sitting up straight. "She'll be worried. And I won't be in work on Monday. You need to tell Rebecca and Parker too."

"Not yet." Booth was adamant. "It's the weekend. I don't know where we're going from here. We need time to think this through first."

Brennan was aghast. "You want to think it through? Just what is there to think about?" Her pitch rose several notches. "The evidence is clear that one of your _sniper_ friends holds some sort of animosity against you and has decided that the best way to hurt you is by killing me."

Booth snorted. "Is that what you think? Huh? That the best way to me is through _you._ I never pegged you as narcissistic, Temperance."

She pursed her lips and didn't respond.

"Well in that case," Booth spat, "I'm glad we're on the same page for once."

"Well.. good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

He heard her hit the mattress as she lay back down. Her body stilled once she had tunnelled back underneath the blankets, facing the wall.

There was a faint rustle and he imagined that she was now on her back, looking at the ceiling.

"Booth?" In the darkness, she sounded small and vulnerable.

He sighed. "Yes, Bones?"

"I think there's more to this than it seems."

He exhaled.

He had a feeling that she was right. She usually was.

* * *

**Author's note #2: **

Lyrics at the top are from "Amie" by Damien Rice. Thank you for reading, as always I appreciate any comments. Again, it may be a while before I get a chance to update.


	3. Little Things

**Author's note #1:**

So, I'm quite possibly the slowest updater ever. Thank you to everyone who reads and leaves feedback - know that I really appreciate it. This chapter is quite short, and probably quite vague - setting everything up for later on is taking longer than I thought, but all questions will (hopefully) be answered in time. To answer the question about whether Brennan should be in a safe house: Perhaps she should but initially, I decided that the timescale was too short for it to be arranged (there was less than a half hour between Booth getting the phone call and his arrival at her apartment).

* * *

CHAPTER TWO  
Little Things

**-x-**

_And the little moments,  
Humble though they be,  
Make the mighty ages,  
Of eternity._

**-x-**

Dried earth from the hems of her clothes had spread out onto the sheets and smudged her skin like charcoal. The pipes above her rattled and the coldness of the room subdued the wave of steam that threatened to spill out from beneath the bathroom door. She could hear Booth humming softly as he showered, and the clatter of the plastic shampoo bottle as it hit the ground.

Brennan sat up, but kept herself cocooned in the quilt. The heater had apparently coughed its last overnight and she was slow to expose herself to another day. She found her hands pulling open the little drawer beside her bed and flicking through a dusty copy of the Holy Bible. There was a spinning noise as a bottle of nail polish rolled and hit the cheap chipboard just below the handle.

The water continued to run, and at a loss for something better to do she shifted the blanket so that the ends of her toes stuck out and began to paint.

A short time later the door opened and Booth pottered about the room, occasionally glancing in her direction. She was entirely absorbed in her task and stifling the urge to interrupt her he lay back over the covers on his bed, waiting for her to break the silence.

Moments later he felt her gaze, and pretended not to notice as her face yielded to a suspicious expression.

"You brought a suit!" she exclaimed accusingly.

He shrugged. "And you brought shocking pink nail polish. What gives?"

"Is that one of your old army ranger tricks?" she continued, "the packed suitcase by the door?"

"Actually," Booth replied as he slipped his gun into its holster, "the weapon within reach? That's Army ranger. The suit would be entirely my own idea."

Brennan twisted the lid back on the polish. "It's not mine. Someone left it behind." She wiggled her toes, quietly pondering her own state of undress.

Booth looked up.

"You shouldn't use other people's stuff - didn't you see that show where the girl used someone else's make up remover and ended up dead with cracky lungs?"

"Cracky." She looked at him skeptically.

"It's a term," he insisted.

"So is lung fibrosis. Which would have been slightly more appropriate given the context."

"Pot-ay-to. Pot-ah-to," he replied irritatingly. "You watch detective shows?" He poked her in the side.

Brennan ignored him.

He looked at her incredulously and watched as she coloured slightly. "I always assumed you'd balk when the media doles out its weekly dose of inaccurate scientific information," he said with deliberation. "Or is that why you watch them, so you can mope over a tub of ice-cream whilst picking out the flaws?"

She folded her arms. "I hardly mope, Booth. Actually I find them quite an interesting portrayal of reaction to law enforcement in general."

"It's acting, Bones. Scripted. Real situations are never as eloquent."

"And never as easily solved," she murmured. She shivered softly. "Is the suit for show or do you actually have an idea of what we're supposed to do now?"

A few seconds passed, expanding the air in the room. She felt the cloudy weariness that had swept across Booth's face slowly settle between her shoulder blades, cooling the base of her spine.

"Wait," he replied. "Or go. Watch tv. Wait." He seemed vaguely frustrated and she took a step back, unsure if she was the source of the problem or just another aggravation.

"Bones, I'm sorry." He exhaled heavily and grabbed her hand. "Sit," he told her and she sat down beside him.

"It's okay." She cleared her throat. "You're a chaser, not a runner, Booth. I know that."

He gave her a wry smile. "There's not much chasing to be done this time. Unless - " He stood up suddenly. "Where are we?"

Brennan's forehead creased.

Before she had a chance to reply he had reached for his keys. "There's an FBI office about twenty minutes from here. I think it's time we did a little digging."

"About the others assigned to Kosovo with you?"

He nodded. "There were two. Not much to go on, but that's all I've got."

She looked doubtful, but at the same time she was secretly relieved at the thought of leaving the motel. "In that case," Brennan replied gesturing at her clothes, "I'm going to need something a little more formal."

Booth exuded a childish impatience, which she quickly extinguished.

"If my pyjamas are unsuitable for driving your car," she said, "then I'm fairly certain they won't do for breaking and entering an FBI building either."

Booth sighed. "I'm a Special Agent, Bones. There's no breaking and entering required."

"I thought the whole purpose of being on the run was that nobody knows where you are," she argued.

"That would be the accepted definition. Just - look on it as a necessary evil, okay?"

She looked at him triumphantly. "I knew that there was wrong-doing involved."

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

Had she ever stood beside him barefoot?

Booth couldn't recall. For every small thing he noticed about Brennan, there were even more that his mind refused to register. Like how at first he looked at her as little as possible, and then later, how he caught her eyes above every other part of her. Time allowed him to know her piece by piece and he felt no urge to rush.

There was a strangled cough in the distance and it took several moments for Booth to focus on the face in front of him, and more for him to realise exactly what he had been doing.

Brennan would probably draw comparisons with tribal war paint and Booth was inclined to agree. There was something terrifying lingering in the thick coat of orange make-up obscuring the face of the young shop assistant.

She had a smug grin in place, one entirely appropriate for a man caught trying a pair of women's pants against himself in the mirror in the ladies department.

He could see the corners of her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh.

"Not what it looks like," he muttered.

She blinked. "Those might be a bit small for you. Perhaps you'd like to browse our selection for larger ladies... Sir?"

"I'm buying for my.. friend," he countered sourly.

She didn't seem convinced.

Booth turned back to the mirror. This wasn't a situation he could win anyway. If he got it wrong then Brennan would roll her eyes and give him a disapproving stare. If he got it right she'd put it down to her expert descriptions of her style and size. He, however, remembered the day that her hip bumped the side of his leg at the spot where he now held the waistband of the pants. He knew just how slight she was because of how his arm enveloped her when he put it around her shoulders, how small she was because of hours spent side by side.

He held the outfit out to the girl. "What do you think?"

Her eyes flicked up and then down. "Cute," she drawled leaning back against a rail of cheap cotton shirts.

He paused. Brennan did cute sometimes, but that was definitely ass-kicking, genius forensic anthropologist cute and not fifteen-year-old girl with an attitude problem cute. He sighed and started leafing through another clothes rail.

"This?" He modelled a second outfit.

"Figure-hugging top," she murmured, "Should show just the right amount of cleavage." She paused. "Sexy."

Booth dropped the top as if he'd been burned, then sheepishly bent down to pick it back up. "Moving on.."

After a few seconds he displayed a third outfit. She grimaced almost immediately and his heart sank as he awaited her response. He hadn't expected it to be this hard, even though the thought that partners weren't meant to buy each other clothes had crossed his mind as Brennan had pushed him out the door with a loose set of verbal instructions. He wondered if she'd notice that he could pick out the perfect dress for her, but when it came to something sensible he failed miserably.

The girl gave a dramatic yawn and then said "Boring."

"Just how is this boring?" he asked indignantly.

"It's simple, it's plain. It's black," she shrugged, her expression verging on defiant.

"You're wearing black," he challenged.

She gave him an exasperated look. "Well, I'm at work. And unless your mysterious 'friend' lives in a museum I'd.."

Booth cut her off. "I'll take it."

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

"You look tired." Brennan's concerned face met him as he pushed open the door. She seemed slightly more awake than when he'd left her that morning. he surmised that she'd probably had a nap while he'd been gone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her, "Just lack of sleep, I think."

Her eyes followed him as he shut the door and walked inside.

"Really, Bones. I'm fine."

She nodded. "Any news?" she asked pointing at the newspaper that he'd picked up on his way back.

"The usual," he replied, placing the bags on the floor, "murder, mayhem and a missing paint-throwing fur activist."

Brennan frowned, "I'm sure no reputable publication would make such a reference." She grabbed the paper from him and scanned the headlines. "She's a social rights campaigner, Booth. There's no paint-balling involved."

"Try these on," he said, tossing her a pair of slacks. "And it's paint throwing," he added for good measure, as the bathroom door swung closed behind her. "And..," he whistled, "it seems she ran off with a few thousand dollars of theirs. That's not even close to socially right."

Brennan laughed.

"Booth, I - "

Her voice trailed off.

"Booth?"

She peered out to where Booth stood.

There was movement outside their room - a faint, vague rustling that lazily unfolded around them.

The note slipped under the door so slowly that the flashes in her mind were of the carpet fibres bending one by one. Her fingers extended in anticipation of touch, as she suddenly felt the room sag and bend and explode in front of her eyes. Silently, she willed her feet to move but they felt heavy and uncoordinated, as though they belonged to someone else.

Shaking, she glanced at Booth. His expression had hardened, his body caught in the same vacuum as hers, only he suddenly managed to break free and grab the piece of paper. When his eyes eventually met hers she found herself unable to cry out. He ran from the room into the corridor, his hand finding his gun.

The doorknob hit the wall in his wake and the sound crashed through her a hundred times over.

* * *

** Author's note #2:**

Anyone catch the reference to Emily Deschanel's early acting career? Thank you for reading, comments are adored and hopefully it won't be as long before I update again;)

* * *


	4. Magnified

**Author's note #1:**

It has been ages (again)... hopefully some people are still interested in how this pans out;) All mistakes belong solely to me, and as a warning (maybe not so much for this chapter, but for the future) this is AU, mainly because I started it mid season 2, but I'm gonna reserve the right to include bits from all episodes aired. Thanks to everyone who left me such great feedback for the last chapter.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE  
Magnified

**-x-**

_But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,  
so we can both be there and we can both share the dark.  
And in our honesty, together we will rise  
out of our nightminds and into the light at the end of the fight._

**-x-**

The dust slowly settled and the world came back into focus - a bed, a chest of drawers, an open door. Her body seemed to jump and she found herself in the hallway with no recollection of how she'd gotten there.

Booth's voice was deadly low, with a dangerous calmness that rooted her to the spot. She swallowed and concentrated on the frayed edges of the wallpaper that seemed to curl tighter with every heartbeat. In the distance she could make out two figures - one unmistakably Booth, the second a shorter man, held tightly against the wall.

There was the ticking of a gun being cocked and the sculpture before her shifted forward as the man balked in fright.

"I'm going to ask you this once and you are going to answer. This -" Booth gestured at his gun "- is not a threat. One hesitation and it's a promise."

The man nodded, and Booth relaxed his arm slightly, releasing just enough pressure from the man's neck so as he could speak.

Brennan clung to the opposite wall and carefully made her way up the length of the corridor until she faced them. This was all wrong.

"Who are you?" Booth hissed, "What do you want?" His eyes were hardened steel, cold and capturing.

There was a pause before the sickening crack of the man's head hitting the wall reverberated down the corridor. Brennan fought the urge to cry out.

"You remember that promise?" Booth lifted the gun and held the barrel against his head.

The humming heat of the strip light grew unbearable and she felt the moment slow down as a wave of dizziness tossed her back and forth.

"No.." The man spluttered, trying to breath as he sagged against the wall.

"Booth -" Brennan's voice was strangled and high pitched.

"Not now, Bones," he brushed her off.

"Booth," she gasped. "I think he works here." Her feet collapsed beneath her and she slid down the wall to the ground.

For the first time Booth looked down and took in the well-worn uniform that the middle-aged man wore and the name tag, freshly polished that was pinned to his front.

His regret was immediately palpable, as he backed off.

"Is that true?" He questioned.

The man's palms were sticky and sweaty and pressed against the wall. One hand wound its way free and made a weak grasping motion as if he were trying to surrender. He managed a sharp nod, though his gaze was wide and remained haphazardly fixed on his assailant.

"Don't move." Booth, unsure and breathing heavily, kept his gun loosely trained on the man as he took a step back.

"Are you okay?" he asked Brennan, his free hand gently touching the side of her forehead.

Her cheeks coloured as she nodded. "Fine."

He lowered his gun. "The note you put under our door. Where did it come from?"

"It.. it was phoned. He phoned and told me to write it down."

"He?"

"I don't know who. It was a man. He said to keep put it under the door when both of you were there. And I saw you come in.."

"How long?" Booth's voice raised a tone. "How long ago was this?"

"I don't know... I don't.." The man's forehead creased, and his hands trembled with agitation as he tried to remember. "An hour ago, maybe."

Booth pulled Brennan to her feet. "Pack up your stuff. We need to leave here now."

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

The heat rose slowly from the ground distorting the tyres and wheels that lay scattered about the junkyard. Brennan's coat lay flung across the fence as she absently swung from the wooden bar. The distance was uninviting and all consuming, a single tree the lonely barrier between herself and an empty horizon.

Behind her she could almost make out Booth's voice as he bargained with the owner, his hand as it gently tapped against the bonnet of his van. There had been a measure of pride in his eyes as she'd admired it earlier and now she couldn't bear to watch as he handed over the keys to a stranger in return for whatever piece of scrap metal might carry them further away from all that was familiar.

"Ready?" His hand on her shoulder distracted her momentarily.

"Guess so." She took one last look at the dealer as he revved the engine from the front seat of the van.

Booth turned her head back to face him and waited until she looked up to catch his eye. "We don't know how they're tracking us. Better that we cover all our bases, right?"

She nodded tiredly. Booth would have noticed if they'd been followed and after searching through their small pile of possessions to locate any form of tracking device, all that remained was the van itself.

Brennan picked up her jacket and followed him towards the rusty car that lay abandoned by the gate. Booth dumped their belongings into the back seat and slid the key into the ignition. After a momentary splutter the engine coughed into life.

It works, she thought. _It works._

A few miles later and Booth had figured out how to use the radio. Sitting back in his seat he drummed the steering wheel in time to the music, then opened the window causing Brennan's hair to spread out behind her like a fan.

She turned to him in annoyance, but soon found that her bad mood was no match for his chilled out demeanour and yielded to a smile. He grinned back at her and absent-mindfully punched her shoulder.

"What?" she shouted over the noise of wind and gravel.

"Nothing," he returned. "Just good to see you smile again."

He turned back towards the road and began to hum. She stared at him a second longer before doing the same, her smile holding fast as the world sped by.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

The ease that had settled between them dissolved as the first low buildings of the suburbs slipped by and reality slowly trickled in through the slant of the open window. Brennan felt Booth's mood change, as his forehead creased and the silence consumed her unspoken words. She played with her lip, catching it between teeth and tongue. These were the moments where she failed to distinguish between the need for space and the need for reassurance; both tending to be swallowed whole by unplanned monologues.

So she waited. Booth would speak when his brooding was done. Or not at all. Either way, she was suddenly terrified of whatever it was they had done or were about to do; or indeed what they hadn't done at all.

He pulled the car over into a parking lot and shut the engine off.

"It's a block from here," he said. "We go in, do what we have to do and get out. Don't talk to anyone."

"Fine," she said shortly. "Surely your card will flash up that you're an out of town agent anyway. I fail to see why we have to be so clandestine about the whole thing."

"You call this clandestine?" Booth smirked.

She sighed. "You're acting like this is an operation requiring some degree of precision. From what I see it's just a normal in, check a database and go."

"It's not that simple," he argued. "The best way to arouse suspicion is to look suspicious, Bones, so I suggest you act as normal as possible."

Brennan held her breath.

"Look," Booth said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "The way things stand we have our guy and he's on the system and we nail him. That term, the 'Two-hit' thing - it's not known, Bones. We knew it - _three_ of us, and the only others who could possibly know are.." He pointed up. "Top level. Access to a lot of files."

"So," she said tonelessly as understanding dawned, "what you are saying is that we are either going to get through security with no trouble, but there's the possibility that as soon as you swipe your card we'll be.., it'll be.."

"What I'm saying," he stated, "is that I don't know. I don't know who the enemy is, Bones."

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

Her father was a criminal. The thought suddenly hung loosely around her, as she watched Booth fumble in his pocket for his swipe card.

Nobody paid them any attention, the other agents milled around the office building without a second glance. She was not her father, she told herself, but there was a vague and unfamiliar thrill that raced through her as Booth's card suddenly opened the door and allowed them access.

"No alarms," she commented.

"Not yet," Booth replied. "Of course that's not to say they aren't silent and all video camera eyes are now on us."

She considered this for a moment.

"Come on," Booth urged her.

"Have you any idea of the layout of this place?" she hissed as they walked quickly down a lengthy corridor.

Booth looked around. "No, but I made up for it by timing our little adventure during lunchtime."

"What do mealtimes have to do with anything, other than the fact that we've barely eaten.. oh!" she broke off.

They stumbled into the main office area. It was deserted, the quietness punctuated only by the whirring of computers and the flashing of screensavers.

"Good timing," Brennan murmured, before snapping back into work mode. "Okay, you start looking over there. I'll start here. There's bound to be some hooker agent that forgot to log himself off."

"Rookie," Booth supplied.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." His fingers tapped at the keyboard, his face washed out by the brightness of the monitor. "And I'm.. in!"

There was a loud clap as Booth rubbed his hands together and pushed his chair back from the desk. Brennan pulled herself to a stand and hurried over to lean on the desk beside him.

"That was fast," she exclaimed.

"Well," he began modestly, "I was once told that the best security breaches are the ones that I don't do myself. Seriously, this dude even left his database window open."

"He must have been _really_ hungry," Brennan stated.

Booth chuckled. "I guess."

Briefly, she felt her skin flush as though his gaze had set her flesh ablaze, but the sensation was too soon extinguished - the fire watered down by a tide of goosebumps: saturating and soft, but ultimately so fleeting that she could deny it ever existed.

"Who's first?" she whispered.

"George Xavier." Booth deftly typed in his name. The screen flickered, a small hourglass turning over and over, as the photograph in the window ticked and changed.

"He was a good man," he said, looking over his shoulder. "They both were. I can't imagine either of them having anything to do with this, Bones. We trusted each other without question."

He exhaled, as the machine beeped.

"Booth -" Brennan balanced herself on his shoulder and leaned over to run a finger across the screen. "He'd dead."

Booth followed her finger. "Killed in action 199- God, Bones, he didn't even make it home from Kosovo."

"You didn't know?" she asked. Booth had slipped into a strained silence, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"We were spilt up shortly afterwards. It was the way things worked for us," he said monotonously. "I guess I'd just always assumed that we'd all made it home."

He sighed and typed in the second name.

"Paul Lewis," Brennan read aloud.

"I don't believe this." Booth banged his fist on the desk. "Two years ago. Heart attack."

Brennan was still for a moment, allowing things to sink in. "They can't both be dead. It's not logical! Who else, Booth? There has to be someone else who knows."

She pulled a chair over and sat down dejectedly. "There's got to be someone else. Are you sure that it was just the three of you?"

"Yes!" Booth stood up. "We invented the concept, there was never anyone else there. Nobody else shared our quarters, except -" He paused. "We picked up an injured soldier on the side of the road on our way there. But he didn't know. He was just a kid. We kept him out of the loop."

He looked at his hands. "There is no way he could have known. We were careful never to say anything to him. Hell, we even had one person stay with him while the others were off.. hypothesizing."

"Name?" Brennan asked.

"Ansar," replied Booth. "Lucas Ansar. We called him Luke."

The screen flickered and then froze at the grainy image of a young man.

"That's him," Booth said.

"He's alive," Brennan pointed out. "But he's not army any more. Medical discharge after he returned home." Her voice took a more serious tone. "He was diagnosed with FSH dystrophy."

"FSH?" Booth wondered.

"How did he even manage to get through training in the first place? He must have been symptomatic even before he was deployed. This is very unusual, Booth," she said.

"FSH?"

"Facioscapulohumeral Dystrophy. It's a form of muscular dystrophy that causes weakness and wasting of the muscles around the eyes and mouth, and of the shoulders, upper arms and lower legs. It's unlikely for someone to have no symptoms by the age of twenty. You said he was injured. What injury did he have?"

Booth shrugged. "Some shoulder thing. He said he strained them. There wasn't any obvious injury, but he couldn't lift his arms above his head. He was eighteen at the time, by the way."

Brennan paused. "He's not the shooter, Booth. It would have been very difficult for him to climb a tree and aim at my window."

"I'm glad you agree. He had no idea of -"

"I think he's the accomplice," she informed him.

"What?" he said sharply, "that's a bit of a leap. Especially for you."

"Look at his file," she gestured towards the screen. "Fourteen month sentence for fraud and money laundering, violent tendencies. He was released from jail six months ago. He's a criminal."

"Just because he has a record doesn't mean he's responsible for this. You of all people should realise that," Booth argued.

"He was there, Booth. Regardless of whether or not you think he didn't hear or know anything. He was still around the three of you which makes him a suspect. And then there's you."

"Oh," he said sarcastically, "and how am I implicated?"

"You take on this massive guy outside my block, someone who is supposed to be dangerous and you walk away with no injury, no bruises - nothing."

"So, he wasn't the best at hand-to-hand," Booth replied nonchalantly, "plus it always helps to have the element of surprise."

Brennan was distinctly unimpressed. "Or maybe he was too weak to put up any fight at all, even after you'd surprised him."

There was a stony silence.

"I'm not trying to cast doubt on your combat abilities, Booth. I'm just wondering if it's possible."

He sighed again. "He wasn't the opponent I'd expected. Far from it, in fact. He was unresponsive, not just verbally.. he didn't lash out at all. He had a limp, as though he had to drag one of his feet."

"Foot drop," Brennan said automatically. "It's him."

Booth ran a hand through his hair.

She quickly printed the file and they left as speedily as they had arrived, the haze of adrenaline not yet faded. Even so, as the building grew smaller behind them the one thought that ran a loop through her mind was that the discovery was small, and that the shooter was still unknown.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

Driving to destination nowhere was more exhausting that Booth had anticipated. Brennan had fallen asleep again, and he'd haplessly been taking random exits and following random road signs ever since. She'd finally awoken when he'd had enough and pulled into a lay-by.

He wondered if he could ever get used to motels. It was comforting to have a bed and roof, but as he looked around the room, he felt a strange pang of loneliness. The place was old and shabby. It had seen many travellers through a cold night, yet stayed static and unchanged while everyone moved on: transience magnified, or catalysed. He hated goodbyes.

Brennan sat on the bed, filling in the newspaper crossword. She was as still as the walls that surrounded her, but he could feel the dynamic between them shift and change.

Booth finished up unpacking and moved over towards her.

"I didn't know that left wing advertising was your thing, Bones." He pointed at the pen she was holding.

"Oh," she lifted it up between two fingers for inspection. "This isn't mine. I think Russ left it the last time he was here."

She frowned. "Practices like this are quite clever. It's an effective means of promoting a cause to a wider audience. Had you not pointed out the logo, I may have noticed it on a subconscious level, a reading between-"

"It's okay." He interrupted, leaning over and grabbing her wrist to pull the pen into view. "I'm sure the, eh, 'Maverely Foundation' are glad of your support."

She glared at him and resumed writing. "This room is too small for both of us."

He chuckled and settled himself on the bed next to her. "You're just too used to having an apartment to yourself." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

She stood up and flung the pen at him. "You are so frustrating. I'm going to the -" she looked around, realising her options were limited, "-bathroom."

"Bones?" His voice had softened considerably.

She looked back at him.

"You surprised me, today."

"I did?" She stilled, thrown off balance by his remark.

"I guess I'd expected you to ask me what the note said at some point."

She shrugged, but her expression wobbled slightly as she sat back down beside him. "I suppose I knew that if it were important to the case you'd tell me."

She cleared her throat.

"Do I need to know what it said, Booth?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "Naah," he whispered. "But I know you, and I know that you're going to ask me to tell you anyway."

"That's true," she conceded.

He rubbed her arm, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it, revealing the spidery handwriting and dark ink.

"Missed you," it shouted at her.

* * *

**Author's note #2:**

Lyrics at the top are from the song "Nightminds" by Missy Higgins. Thank you for reading, and as always feedback is adored;)


	5. Failsafe

**Author's note #1:** I know, it has been a (long, long) while. Real life has dealt me a lot of unexpected craziness. I can't promise regular updates, but I still love writing and have a plan for this story.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR  
Failsafe

**-x-**

_Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together._

**-x-**

Somewhere a phone was ringing.

Somewhere, quiet footsteps padded along a suburban carpet and light brightened a dim hallway.

"Hello?" The word was a question and her voice leaden with sleep.

He breathed in.

"I'm.." he began, tentitively. "I'm going to the movies today."

"Seeley?" Her voice had sharpened and he could almost feel the reverberations of her dreamlike state shattering.

"I don't know what I'm going to see," he continued, ignoring her question. This was no rehearsal, and the words were spilling from his mouth: a torrential verse they'd long ago scripted and hoarded away.

There was a pause and her thoughts seemed to swirl around him and take form, as he fought the temptation to answer the next question before it came.

"Who are you going with?" Her tone was neutral.

"Dr. Brennan."

"And her science club?"

"No." Coolness clawed the air around him. "Just Dr. Brennan."

He wanted volatile. He wanted the frozen glass in the phone booth to splinter when he breathed on it and the tumbling shards to pinch his skin and make him feel that this was not happening.

She held him intact. He could see the poise of her porcelain face framed by those doll-like blonde curls. Of all the times he wished for her to let him down, she disappointed him by staying true.

"Goodbye, Seeley," she said, softly, a hint of sadness, regret encapsulated somewhere in the briskness of her tone.

"Bye," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Tell Parker.." He bit his tongue, and let the sentence hang. No imaginings of this scenario had ever led him this far.

"I will," she replied with certainty.

"Take care, Rebecca."

He hung up the receiver and sank to his knees. His thirty seconds were up.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

The wind had picked up in intensity and the rain that spilled from the sky burned his skin like coffee. A palm stretched over his head provided no shelter, but the slow trail of the numbness as it approached his elbow was painful comfort in a world that was fast falling away from him.

"Where were you?" Brennan looked at him edgily as he stripped himself of his sodden jacket and boots.

Her concern seemed to bounce, torn to silence by the rustling of his clothes, but then he stilled slightly and caught her eyes.

"It doesn't matter," he replied.

She looked at her hands, wanting to press him further, but afraid of what she'd find she instead busied herself in the wet footprints that stained the wooden floor, before reaching down and picking up the thin rain jacket that they'd found stashed away in his trunk the day before.

"I'm going out." Her fingertips squeaked against the plastic, and although doubtful as to how dry she'd stay, she slipped it over her shoulders.

He faltered, his sullen expression melting away. "You can't go out."

He looked at her and she stilled.

"If you want to go out, I'll go with you."

She turned towards him. "I can look after myself. I don't need your protection."

"I know."

"I don't want your company."

"Bones - I"

"You what?" She crossed her arms. "You go out when you want to - without telling me. I woke up and you were gone, Booth. The room was empty."

He stepped towards her.

"Don't -" She raised her arm in protest. "I don't want to talk about this, and you.. don't want to talk." She pulled the door open.

"Temperance." His voice was low. She turned and watched as he freed his gun from his holster and slid it across the floor towards her, as he sat down. "Stay safe."

She picked in up and held it in her two hands. Daylight glinted off the metal surface and she felt its heavyness cut her right down to her bones. She reached over and shut the door, and then, quietly stepped over to his side. His eyes were dark and he stared despondantly as she slid down beside him.

"I'm no good at this, Booth," she began.

He looked at her and cleared his throat. "I won't disappear again. I promise."

"And whatever is making you broody -"

"I don't brood," he interjected.

She looked at him skeptically. "If you need to talk, I'll listen. I know I'm not very perceptive and I probably can't help you or make you feel better - "

He reached across and placed a finger on her lips, stunning her into silence. Her eyes widened.

"You're more than enough," he said, a hint of a smile touching his face, as his hand slipped down between them.

She felt warm against his shoulder.

**-x--x--x- -x--x--x-**

Even as the minutes trundled awkwardly into hours, the sense of being tacked down on an impasse refused to leave her. They had descended into a stilted silence, each afraid of testing the delicate truce that had somehow been reached. She missed him and hated the feeling of impending disaster that was slowly unfolding around them.

He was banging his way through the furniture again. Slamming the closet doors, rooting through the cases looking, she knew, for everything and finding nothing. It was the helplessness, the emptiness. The glaring fact that since they'd left the FBI office there had been no developments nothing to suggest the danger existed at all.

She wanted to go home.

The shrill ringing of the phone jolted her, and as she leaned instinctively to pick up the receiver, she felt her hand trapped beneath Booth's with enough force to prevent her picking up the call.

"Bones!" he whispered harshly. She seemed dazed and lost in thought. "We didn't order room service!"

Her brow furrowed. "Oh. Do you think it might be them?"

He nodded and freed her hand, sitting as close to her as possible.

She answered, holding the phone between them."Hello?"

Her voice was firm and authoritative. She excelled at maintaining control even though her heart was racing and the anticipation was making her lightheaded. Booth's arm rested on the bed, a reassuring hand grazing her shoulder.

They were met by the whining of misplaced high frequency machinery before a voice, distorted and metallic fractured the air.

"I know where you are, Temperance."

Then nothing.

Dead.

"No." She jumped to her feet, flinging the phone against the wall as though she had been burned. "No, no, no."

Booth was quick to follow her. "We need to go.."

"No." She clutched at him, pulling him to her but at the same time, keeping him at arms length. "It makes no sense, Booth. How could he know?"

She paused, her brow furrowed and her face pale.

"It doesn't matter," Booth argued. "Point is if we stay here.."

Brennan sighed frustratedly. "He shouldn't know where we are! We are not being followed. We swapped trucks. It doesn't make sense."

She breathed heavily and fell to her knees. "Did you check the seams?" She grabbed the end of his pants.

"What? No. Bones?" Booth took a step back and pulled her to her feet. He started with his sweatshirt feeling the sleeves and the back of the neck. "Nothing."

"These are clean too," Brennan dumped her night clothes back in the closet, before tipping the contents of her handbag onto the bed.

"We've checked everything before," Booth murmured scooping up her puzzle book and leafing through it.

He glanced up and saw that she had frozen, her fists tightly clenched.

"Bones?" She kept her head down, refusing to meet his gaze. Her lips were pursed, as she desperately tried to dam the tears that were poised to slip from her eyes.

He took her hands and slowly peeled back her fingers one by one. A small tracking device glittered from beside an ugly pressure mark on one palm. The other hand concealed a green "Maverely Foundation" pen snapped in two.

"I'm so sorry, Bones." He pulled her to him and tucked her head into his neck.

"It can't be him. It can't," she whispered. "Russ.."

He tightened his grip around her waist. Thinking back to the metal voice he had sworn he'd heard a hitch - "Temp-ie-rance", a slur so subtle he had barely acknowledged it. Nobody else called her Tempe.

"Tell me what it means, Booth," she pleaded.

His hand rubbed the back of her head as her name ran through his bloodstream, hammered out a thousand times in tin. An intense anger, unexpected, crept through him. She deserved so much better.

"I don't know," he said. "I wish I did."

_I wish I could make them stop hurting you._

* * *

**Author's note #2:**

I'm quoting Eugene Ionesco. As always I adore any feedback good, bad or indifferent. Thank you for reading.


End file.
